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OTHER VOEJAS 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 






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THISBE'S LAMENT 



AND 



OTHER POEMS. 



BY 

MASSON PELL HELMBOLD, 

AUTHOR OF 
" CASSIA, A LETTER-TALE," " BERTRUCCIO," ETC. 



Thus bards will live, thus bards will write, 
So long as bards may see the light ; 
And when the world they cease to write in, 
Ye'U see no light where they saw light in. 




philadelp: 
PRESS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
1885. 






Copyrhjht, 1885, by MASSON TELL HELMBOLD. 




TO 



MY MOTHER, 



A MOTHER WHO, FOR ALL THE QUALITIES WHICH THAT PARENT 
SHOULD POSSESS, HAS NEVER BEEN SURPASSED, 

THIS VOLUME 

IS 

AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. 



PREFACE. 



Poets, in these days, generally take refuge under 
the false and ridiculous supposition that it is impossi- 
ble to write originally. It could be claimed equally 
well that the Pagans and Heathens now rampant in 
various parts of the world, should not be converted 
because no missionary can be an original missionary. 
As long as there are human beings, with minds that 
think and hearts that feel, there are ideas to feed and 
elevate those minds, — feelings and passions to move 
and refine those hearts. They are not the instructors 
of themselves individually ; one original sympathetic 
mind sways them all. Yet here we find a man of 

5 



6 PREFACE. 

ordinary intellect ruling millions of his fellow-men. 
He has risen to his present state through his own 
abilities, and Fate, or even Good Luck, has had 
nothing to do with him. His own abilities made 
him what he is, and yet he need not deserve it. On 
the other hand, here is a philosopher, a poet, a man 
who was simply born to aid his fellow-men, — where 
or what is he ? He is poor, unfortunate, sad, and 
persecuted. Now, which of these two men really 
deserves the philosopher's stone? One has it in 
reality ; the other seems to have it, or uses it as 
though he had. One is Thomas Carlyle, — a man 
of vast power and learning; the other is Thomas 
Paine, — a man equally able and learned, — yet an 
Unbeliever! Now, whom are we to follow? One 
(very wisely) will answer, Carlyle ; another (equally 
wisely, — he can prove it) says, Paine. So these 
two men can be both great and yet have ideas 
completely contradictory. Now, as long as there 
is a single idea in the myriad codes of philosophy 



PREFACE. y 

scattered throughout the Globe; — as long as there 
is one man to say this and another to say that ; — 
as long as there are others to prove that he is 
right or wrong, — there is room for more Poets. 

" The meanest bard that ever scribbled can, 
Thinking all his life, scribble well." 

There is, in other words, time to prove, and minds 
to assist in proving, the truest and best of those 
codes of philosophy; and a poet, devoting his whole 
mind, soul, and life to the study of such matters, 
is the one at least to try to regulate things for the 
welfare of his fellow-men. 

The Author can confidently state that these Poems 
are original ; he had an object in writing most of 
them, and has endeavored to reap from his own 
sufferings and longings a few morals which, ex- 
pressed with as much sincerity and sympathy as his 
powers or feelings are capable of, he hopes will only 

go to the mark as well as his intention came to him. 

1* 



8 PREFACE, 

The figures or dates affixed to some of the Pieces, 
indicate the ages at which they were composed. A 
particular apology is made for the "Seraph's Boon," 
as it was composed in the Author's fifteenth year, 
and is inserted for the mere sake of preservation. 

The " Ode to a Nightingale," was written some 
two years before the Author had read Keats's 
address to the same bird ; but he hopes it is too 
evidently original to necessitate this remark. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

1 Thisbe's Lament ii 

2 To THE River Hudson 15 

3 To A Nightingale 16 

4 To A Gypsy Girt 22 

5 To A Pebble 25 

6 To AN Indian Skull 27 

7 To a Farmer's Child 31 

8 Night 34 

9 Night 36 

10 Written at Midnight 37 

11 To Saint Mary's Lake, White Plains . . . .38 

12 Malicho 41 

13 II Pudente 43 

14 The Lament of the Serpent 45 

15 An Incitement to War 47 

16 Lines Written at the Capital, January 18, 1882 . . 49 

17 Ye Seraph's Boon 52 

18 The Poet 64 

19 Epigrams 65 

20 Meditation 66 

21 A Song 68 

22 The Sweetest Song 69 

9 



lO 



CONTENTS. 



23 'Tis Love this Year 

24 Oh, Siren Fair 

25 'Tis Love, my Boys 

26 Columbia's Kings . 

27 The War-Cry of the North 

28 The Defeat of the South 

29 The Slave's Rhapsody 

30 Behold the Day . 

31 'Tis Peace 

32 "High Heaven May" 
T,-^ Stanzas for Music 

34 Song 

35 To Juliet 

36 A Song 

37 Scotch Songs : 

38 Oh, meet me there 

39 The Bonny Doon 

40 Afton- Waters 

41 The Sweetest Bird that Sings by 

42 Should a Maiden Tempt 

43 A Milliner's Advertisement 

44 To a Friend 

45 Maiden, I will Love Thee 

46 Kathleen 

47 Oh, let me see thy Face Divine 

48 Lines 

49 Could I but Find a Lass to Love 



Dee 



71 

74 
76 
79 
80 
82 
84 
88 
90 
92 
96 
98 

99 
102 

104 
106 
110 
112 
114 
117 
118 
121 
122 
124 
126 
127 



THISBE'S LAMENT. 

Solitude! solitude that weep'st at thine own 
Sad loneliness ! Trees that droop beneath 
The weight of some mysterious cause, and prone 
Like a mournful maiden, over the heath 
Shed tears more dread than fall from sorrow lone ! 
Seeking, myriad-wailing flood! — with breath 
More filled with woe than lover's moan for love. 
That yearn'st for some secret thing 'neath ale or 
grove ! — 

Solitude! take thou too my wail of woe! 
Till thy deep heart beats like a mother's for 
Her weeping babe ! Take me, bury me low 
In thy bosom, and let the ^olian wind o'er 



12 THISBES LAMENT. 

My rest sing a mother's lullaby ! Oh ! 
Valleys ! Mountains ! Deep Cimmerian shore ! 
Hide me ! Entomb me from the light of day ! 
Or show me where Pyramus's eyes last shed their 
ray. 

Ah, bird, thou sing'st nothing sweet, — sad emblem 

Of departed youthful joys! even here, 

Within this lane, didst sing Love's first anthem. 

When this heart was erst Pyramus's: cold seer! 

Thou wert but chanting Love's requiem : 

Ev'n here, with heaps of flowers to cast as I came 

near, 
Pyramus hid, panting with heart-choked breath : 
Alas ! I dreamed not that he was so near to death ! 

Oh, cease, ye voices of Pierian springs, 
Whose tales are lost to love and happiness ! 
Oh, cease to whisper of those wanderings 
In Aonian vales of light and idleness ! 



THISBBS LAMENT. 1 3 

Those winds, those wolds, and meres, those birds' 

bright wings, 
Which lips that thought of love forgot to bless ! 
Pyramus, thy lips ! Oh, Jove, at their words 
My soul leapt like the wind on harmonious chords ! 

Lost Pyramus, in this arbor didst bend 
To kiss love's first bashfulness. Ah ! and how 
Came I here that morn and 'neath thee did wend, 
All-assuming that I knew not that low, 
Like a flower, thy rosy lips did tend 
From thy dewy covert, when of my brow 
Didst steal the boon, soft as the stealthy breeze 
That drops its balm on the blushful Cyclades. 

Sweet winds light-laden with Lydian calm. 
Which Pyramus's lips did delight with mine, — 
To the rapture of whose Sabean balm 
Two souls rushed on the gale and there did join ; 



14 THISBE'S LAMENT, 

Warm as the waters by Livadia's palm 
Down-leaping cliffs to mingle with the brine, — 
Oh, wind ! thou bear'st back to me my soul, lone, 
And cold as the wave blighted by the cyclone ! 

Pyramus ! (sweetest name of Polymnia born, — 
Sweetest ev'r angel lips gave forth, like moist 
The silvery vaults of Elysian morn 
Bestirring in its fall, — first sadly voiced 
By me in tones of joyless love forlorn. 
And weird, — remembered name forever poised. 
In the shape of his own sweet face, above 
My sight — soul — my life — my misery and love !) 

Pyramus ! Thou that round my soul did spread 
All shapes of beauty blooming here below ; — 
That wert the sweet reaper of all I said. 
And every thought I had ; oh, let me know 
What distant field upholds thy lowly head. 
Where thy cheek, tinged with a last dying glow, 



TO THE RIVER HUDSON. 15 

Lost on the gale the life which was my love. 
Speak ! Awake ! Spirit, oh, hast thou lips above ? 

Ah, gay flowers that mock me with your bloom, 
Which once I might have gladly plucked for bays, 
In my own lost Pyramus's locks to loom, — 
Fade ! — Low as his lips which no more shall raise ! 
Sere as this heart that seeks a silent tomb ! 
Dead as the joy that waft ye love and praise ! 
Come, Night ; come, Death ; fair skies, roll away. 
And leave darkness o'er my euthanasia. 



TO THE RIVER HUDSON. 

Most beautiful nymph of my native shore. 

With thy gently heaving bosom bare. 

Whose voice is like a lute within the air, 

When sweet lips sing the music of their lore,- 
2 



1 6 TO A NIGHTINGALE. 

Oh ! beautiful nymph upon whom the more 
I gaze do seem of all I've seen most fair, — 
Into whose soul meseems I peer whene'er 

Thine image I bend with open heart before, — 

Hear me, — how is it that I sigh, and stay 
Beside thee ere I part so lingeringly ? 

As into the eyes of love which fades away, 

Stand and ponder, — as on vows made faithlessly ? 

Ah, virgin sweet, I would only thou couldst say 
That I might live, to love thee everlastingly. 



TO A NIGHTINGALE. 

I. 

Have we wearied of thy numerous strain ? 
Canst thou sing, forever at thine ease. 
And the poet heed not, his attentions cease. 
Choosing some other being of tree or sky or 
plain, — 



TO A NIGHTINGALE. \y 

Some sweeter moral, higher theme than he may 
gain 
Of thee ? Can he hear thy harmonies, — 
Harped Hke the myriad-cadenced breeze, 
Where flowers have a voice, the floods, and birds, — 
and still shun thee with no pain ? 



II. 



Where turn to find the glory of the vale, — 
The worthiest thing that wins a steadfast love, — 
The sweetest object that beautifies the grove. 
And in its sweetness gives every star or beechen 

pale 
A deeper summer joy ? — List to the nightingale, — 
Turn thy feet into the night,— when, stoop'd 

above. 
The moon hearkens, a pallid rapture wove 
In every beam, — when gaping darkness stands awed 
over the midnight dale. 



1 8 TO A NIGHTINGALE. 

III. 

Then give thy soul to the spirit of ecstasy ! 
Overflood thy bosom with the tides of joy ! 
Till they leap to burst their bounds, dissolve, 
and die 
In a torrent of happiness, — moving with the mel- 
ody,— 
Roaring, falling with the madness and cadency ! 
What is the soul's delight ! How seeks the eye 
To behold the author of such a music high, 
So falling from the heavens that it might a seraph 
angel's be ! 



IV. 

O primal moral of all morals here ! 
O bird that sings't all alone in arboreal shade, 
Fast hidden from human eyes (or pent in glade, 
Or in ethereal canopies) in the clear 



TO A NIGHTINGALE. ig 

Day, — didst thou not, full mournful of his sad 
career, 
Join Adam, of lost Paradise dismayed, 
In Serendib's isle sequestered as he strayed ? 
And still dost thou mourn his fall, hidden hermit of 
the midnight drear ? 



O sweet companion of our mother Eve ! 
Once full-fed with Eden's bowery breeze, 
'Mid ceaseless balm of od'rous Summer trees, 
What time the angels sought thy voice, — but not 

to grieve, — 
Raining like heaven's murm'rous showers from 
ev'ry eave ! 
O wild bewailer in a Lydian ease ! 
Or what hissing serpent, envious of thy keys. 
Dared tempt thee with promised joy of fruit and life 
Heaven refused to give ? 

2* 



20 TO A NIGHTINGALE, 

VI. 
Where is the tempting fruit, thy life and joys ? — 
The light of fadeless days and unknown years, — 
Sweet paradisal rivers where the saddest tears 
Of virgin flowers wept, — spotless leaves, opening 

skies, 
Where moon never looked down with pitiless 
eyes, — 
Where stars never rolled their myriad spheres, 
Numerous as man's frailties, hopes, and fears ? — 
Where are they All ? Oh, mortal bird ! canst thou 
e'er regain thy Paradise ? 

VII. 

Spirit of sadness, and of hidden shame. 
Heaven-doomed here in Stygian depths to 

mourn, 
Fearful of daylight, or human eyes and scorn, — 
More drear than covert Eve, who clothed her naked 
frame 



TO A NIGHTINGALE. 2 1 

Beneath the burning sight of Heaven's scornful 
flame ! 
Oh, ever wilt thou sing? and still forlorn 
Tell us we are of fallen parents born, — 
Thro' Eden lost decreed our lives, our hopes, our 
worship of God's name? 

VIII. 

Oh, then sing on, and human lips shall praise 
Fore'er the sweetness of the immortal theme : 
Even thou, that hast here but a fitful dream, 
May'st find all sadness vain, and joy within thy 

days : 
And we, who seek for peace the haunts which are 
thy ways, 
Shall laugh to see how false this world may 

seem, 
How dark, sequestered thoughts the mind may 
teem, 
When heavenlier things are sought where heaven 
itself surrounds the gaze. 
1882. 



22 TO A GYPSY GIRL. 



TO A GYPSY GIRL. 

Here thou leap'st upon my sight 
Like an angel of the height, 
With thy loose and meteor hair, 
And thy features wild and bare, 
And thy foot so soft that springs 
Man might think that thou hadst wings. 
Until familiar with thy face 
Thro' delineation of its grace, — 
Until he saw that he might be 
An earthly worshipper of thee. 
But thou of love hast none, 
Maiden of the forest lone ! 
Save that which in thy tribe 
Barters thee, or wins thee with a bribe, 
To bear thee thro' a distant shade 
Where cute-eyed sin sits undismayed. 



TO A GYPSY GIRL. 

Oh, who could hesitate 

To raise thy young hTe to a state 

Worthy of its innocence, 

And woman's natural moral sense? 
Oh, here the forest is wild 

Around thee, unstoried child ! 

Here alone within a dell 

Full happily couldst thou dwell, 

Nature's rude orig-inal ! 
And the dashing waterfall 
Could tell thee naught beyond 
The circle of its little pond, — 
Could murmur to thy vision 
Nothing of a life Elysian. 

But, bound upon the spot, 
Wouldst ask no change of lot, 
To give thee a new home 
And thoughts; no favorite thing 
But only lips that sing — 



23 



24 



TO A GYPSY GIRL. 

Till, lain upon the sod, 

Thy soul aspired to God — 

Should to thy bosom come ; 

And yet thy meek and humble sense 

Would be a bright intelligence. 

Unconstrained by human folly, 

And imagined melancholy. 

And all this life's dull sophistries. 

Which are the wisdom of the wise, 

And but a veil on sightless eyes. 

Oh, who would not that he could bind 
To such a solitude his mind? — 
Shun his noble veins or race 
To have thy blood within their place, — 
Don thy wild robes for his gold 
And fantastic garments' fold, — 
Pluck the leaves from off thy head. 
And place them on his own instead, — 
Take thy meek, unknowing mind, 
And cast his learning to the wind, — 



TO A PEBBLE. 

Take thy dell, thy waterfall, 
Be Nature's rude original, 
And die as if he felt on earth 
The sweet advantage of a birth ! 

[882. 



25 



TO A PEBBLE. 



Thou simplest thing that God hath made, 

Maiden-bosomed being, so white 
That of some snowy Alpine glade 

Dost seem a flake, wind-wafted light, — 
Sweet virgin-lipped, modest mite, 
What dost thou here ? Who loves thee in thy cavern 

shade, 
So meek scarce prompt'st the heart to ask why there 
thou'rt laid ? 



26 TO A PEBBLE. 



II. 



But thy spirit is not on earth, 

Pale gem more dear than ruby red; 
For seraphs know thou hast a worth, — 

That one mother bore, equal fed. 

And breast-cradled thy infant head ; 
Tho' men revere not the lineage of thy birth, 
Nor bind the sapphire's gold around thy humble 
girth. 

III. 

Thou, all alone and unbeloved, — 
Even as a maid whose simple face 

With no beauty human heart hath moved, — 
Shall remain uncherished in thy grace, 
And shapes more vain take thy due place : 

So souls more fit for thrones in heaven above 

Are lost on earth to worth, happiness, and love. 
1882. 



TO AN INDIAN SKULL. 



27 



TO AN INDIAN SKULL. 

(Found near a forest.) 
I. 

Hollow face of more than mortal scorn, 

With deathly lips that mock the orient skies, 
He who wends thee by with life-unthoughtful 
eyes, 

Treads thee in his path, and the cloudless morn 

Of life is dimmed with thoughts of erst unborn : 
Black visions, omens, and breathless mysteries 
Haunt thy sealed lips, and spiritually rise 

From those sightless spheres whose orbs are maggot- 
worn. 

IL 

I curse thee, oracle of dread decrees ! 
I cast thee from my path! Away! thou'lt haunt 



28 TO AN INDIAN SKULL. 

Me in after-years with fears and mockeries ! 

Go down to thy deep-delved caverns, and freeze 
In the bowels of thy mother-womb ; there daunt 
The lithe and soulless worm, or rant thy vaunt, 
Like an abortion, to th' heartless earth at ease. 
Unseen by the world, unheard in thy taunt. 

III. 

Heaven forgive the blasphemy of that lie ! 
Sacred thing! Foreboder of man's liberty 
And shriven soul ! Thou'rt dear to this slavery 

Of sin-fettered hearts unwarned to die ! 

Sweet pastoral of moral strain and joy ! 

Here let the forest sing with empty threnody. 
But thou, with all the holy love in melody. 

Shall speak of things beyond where birds may fly. 

IV. 
Here, by the side of mighty trees, thou'lt stay 
The mightiest of all God's wonders great; 



TO AN INDIAN SKULL. 29 

For here the friendless shepherd shall cease his lay, 
And pause the noontide hours to ponder late, 
And leave his prosperous flocks to dream on fate : 
Thus thou, sweet pastoral, shall teach him to pray 
Prayers that never toned the rustic way ; 

Then trees and floods shall make him praise his 
state. 

V. 

And here the traveller, wayward bent from home. 
Shall feel the thrills for ones afar away, 
By sunny Loire meandering on its way, 

Or by Hudson's murmurous breast of foam : 

But thou, with lips pent up to heaven's dome, 
Soul thyself of one departed, shall say, 
" Fear not, for God will keep them in thy stay ;" 

And, all-assured, once more his path he'll roam. 

VI. 

Here the daily heavens will stretch revealed, 
Moons gaze thro' the canopies of the spheres. 



30 TO AN INDIAN SKULL. 

Suns on suns know thee, storms on storms be pealed 
With torrents amain thine unyielding years : 
For the rains will dash, and moons roll in vain : 
when clears 

The tempest, suns will bleach thee; Time must yield; 

And, her only living thing, dust of the field, 
Thou'lt be a sibyl of man's moral fears. 

VII. 

Then, nature's greatest boon, Oh, here remain. 
And be a spirit and a teacher sent to men ; 
For thou, in mortal life, wert of this domain. 
And didst know this world, this mount, stream, and 

glen. 
These passions with their hopes and changes, men 
With their communions of joy to sin, of truth to 

pain ; 
And the spirit which haunts thee hath no stain. 
And thy lips are ones where God's own have been. 
1882. 



TO A FARMER'S CHILD. 



31 



TO A FARMER'S CHILD. 



Leaping, twirling, dancing thing, 
Like a bird on merry wing, — 
Joyous in the morning's rise, 
Like a lark within the skies, — 
Joyous when the even falls, 
Fresh as birds in western squalls, — 
Oh, when will thy sadness come, 
And leave thy soul within a home? — 
When will happiness leave thy breast 
Like a bird without a nest ? 

II. 

God's eyes are still above thee, — 

Can He ever cease to love thee ? — 
3* 



32 TO A FARMER'S CHILD. 

Leave thee in simplicity 

To brutal man's duplicity? 

No ! He hath made thy nature mild, 

And innocence is God's own child, 

And He will guard thee and defend thee, 

If coming evils dare offend thee ; 

He will bless, and see thee blest 

With love of Him within thy breast. 

III. 

Emblem of my infant years. 

Author of these childish tears, 

Rosy lips where meadows blush 

With all their flowery flush; 

Leaping, palpitating breast, 

Like the streamlet's glad unrest. 

Oh, let me press thee to the bosom 

Where joy so long hath ceased to blossom ! 

Sweet harbinger from out my Past! 

Oh, lend my heart thy flood at last. 



TO A FARMERS CHILD. 

IV. 

Such thoughts as these cannot be thine, 
Or thy spirit would weep with mine : 
Such thoughts as these should fill the soul 
Where tides of sorrow as billows roll, 
And whelm the spirit in a sea 
Of darkness never known to thee : 
For thou, in unsuspecting state 
All reckless of a future fate, 
Art an image of thy God 
Too pure to fear the pressing of a sod. 
1880. 



33 



34 



NIGHT. 



NIGHT. 



Oh, think not that night lacks of being fair, 

Nor that the sun is mistress of the sky, 

For the virgin moon sleeps most fair on high. 
And all the heavens with mantles repair 
To hide her from the peeping sun, whilst in the air 

Sweet roundelays waft sweetest lullaby; 

Sweet even as an Indian mother's sigh, 
What time she seeks some dark and grassy lair 
To rock her sleeping babe. There's such a tone. 

Such an angel voice of cadence in the wood, 
Which the raptured spirit seems to hear alone, 

When night falls on heavenly solitude, 
That all the golden stars which ever shone. 

Are less than the pure thoughts it makes us brood. 



NIGHT. 



II. 



35 



Beauteous night ! beauteous moon ! what lowly thing 
Must not adore? Lo, oft upon the white 
Carpathian fastnesses, to praise thy light, 

The lautari lonely takes his wondering, — 

Wild as a bird with only lips that sing! 

And afar in Shihrian mountain-woods, bright 
Eyes have caught their rapture, whilst in the height 

Pale lips tell of love too sweet for murmuring. 

Most beautiful night! descend upon my soul, 
And blend with my life thy blest tranquillity ! 

Till, as my prayer ascends to his goal, 

Stoops the laboring moon, and hears me with a 
sigh; 

Even while the strange and vapory mist roll 
O'er his face, and stars look down in mystery. 



36 NIGHT. 

NIGHT. 

Night wooes the maiden moon, 
She drops in pallid swoon 
Upon his breast; all things soon 
Begin to love, and faint with joy : 
Sleeps not a bird in the dell ; 
Black owl and black pipistrel 
In their own ways do tell 
Their dreams unto the midnight sky. 

There are lips that grow pale, — 
Pale even with the tale 
Too mad for lovers to wail, — 
But they speak love with silent tones 
Easilier than with shrill cries ; 
For now do eyes meet eyes 
Where heart to heart replies, 
With love's deep, distinct monotones. 



WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT. 37 



WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT. 

There are voices in the silence of night, — 

The stars are still, save that in their zones they fly 
Onward, but yet they have whisperings on high, 

As tho' the birds did echo in their light. 

Which having heard, meseems stars are more bright, 
And the moon far more cold, and seem to sigh 
The vibration of earth's sweet melody : 

And one heart beats louder, and the keen flight 

Of one soul wings new spheres of mysteries. 

Yon domes, where men meet for praise or prayer, 

Still repeat, tho' midnight on their altars sleep; 
And, ah! this mind, erst wrapt in speechless care, 

Now holds with One its open converse deep, 
And men may scorn or heed these tearful eyes ! 



^S TO ST. MATTY'S LAKE, WHITE PLAINS. 



TO SAINT MARY'S LAKE, WHITE 
PLAINS. 



Far from thee, by Potomac's tide, I stood, 
And saw his waters without one beauty 
That. is thine; the wild raven's dinsome key 

Rose from the marshes drear, whilst by thy flood 

Heavenly lays chant glorious solitude : 

And, hearing, all my soul went back to thee, — 
Even as a bird with heart of brimming glee 

Seeks for merrier pastime a gayer wood. 

Thou art to memory a thing so bright. 
That still I see the golden passage of 

The sun, with thy light clouds faring o'er, in light 
Spread on thy surface ; and the willowy grove 

On thy shore, murm'rous ever, bending down white 
Eaves, like pale lips which yearn to whisper love. 



TO ST. MARY'S LAKE, WHITE PLAINS. 39 



II. 

It is not here alone whereby T find 

To think of thee, for in other ch'mes, where 
* The grape feeds luxury to every air, 
And streams on streams are lulled with rosy wind, 
Thou still hast been a picture in my mind, 

Whereof the more I trace, the more must stare, 
Till each lineament is expressed more fair. 
And the very lips of music are defined 
In the breathing sky, and the flood, and dale. 

And I have stood on Thames's long-harped shore, 
To hear of her unmoved full many a tale ; 

And I have seen the sunny Loire, untouched, bore 
'Neath flowers thick as those that deck a Servian vale 
Which maidens cast off when the Rolo's o'er. 

III. 
How waving willows fanned me in thy grass, 
When sleepily sang I in so calm a lair! 
Even as the restless lips of morn breathe air 



40 TO ST. MARY'S LAKE, WHITE PLAINS. 

Upon the idle mountain as they pass, 
When softly sings the bird a gentle mass, 

And, slowly rising, like mantles debonnair, 

The warm mists uplift o'er thy bosom fair. 
As the waking sigh rippling heaves its glass ! 
At even I sought the steepest peak above, 

To see the sun sink in the lowest skies. 
As the lark droned his last tale of love, 

And weary day slowly drooped her eyes, 
And the beetle to boom one last note strove. 

When he falls by thy shore, and breathless lies. 

IV. 

Pure, singing Lake, thou art still to the years, 
Melody more sweet than heard by thy shore ; 
For when I dream of thee, thy voice once more 

Falls upon my soul (soft as angel tears 

Faintly breathing their dew from distant spheres), 
And it rejoices, finding sweet tales of lore 
In every thought upon the days of yore, — 

In all it meets or sees, and all it hears. 



MALIC HO. 41 

Even here I stand, by far Potomac's flood, 

And feel the wind which dimples o'er thy grace, 

And see the smile upon the laughing wood. 
And the lark that flits by in jovial race ; 

Tho' Winter's frown be on this solitude. 
And the skies as wan as a drooping face. 
1 881. 



M A L I C H O. 



Frowning brow that feign'st a mien severe, 
Yet as fair shown in that haughtier grace ; 
Cunning soul, and thrice more cunning face, 

Cloudy with the thoughts which are most clear, 

Sunny when the spirit is most drear, — 

Why do ye love to cheat ? — From man chase 
All his youth and joy to sorrow's wry grimace, 

And make love that should be sweet so sere ? 



42 MALICHQ. 



II. 
Up, up, vain man ! to worship such a thing, 

What faith could make thee true? Thou lovest 
not, — 

Tis but an instant doomed to be thy lot, 
That thou shalt pine in this low worshipping. 
She is fair, — but thou art not her beauty's being : 

Thine is the purity, and hers the blot; 

Thou art the god, — and still thou hast forgot 
To rule, and thy dropt sceptre hath no sting. 

III. 
Thou pin'st for one woman, but there are more 

Who can give thee peace which she shall ne'er : 

Verily, the All-seeing could never bear 
To gaze on man, and see his earthly store, 
And shape no single soul to bless him, nor 

Send one voice to join his earthly prayer, 

Interpreter of the mystery of care : 
A mite of God's true love in every breast is bore. 



IL PUDENTE. 



43 



IL PUDENTE. 



EvALiNA, thou mak'st the soul of man feel 
Glad to dream upon such a modesty; 
His breast inhales thy very purity, 
For his heart awakens to a joy so real 
That heaven itself breathes in thy face ideal. 

II. 

Whilst I gaze upon thee rapturously, 

And press thy hands, white as a snowy sky 
Where gentle streaks of veined azure lie, 
A meek sigh parts thy lips : I hear it as the key 
Of some pure harp in rosy isles beyond the sea: 



44 



IL PUDENTE. 



III. 
And the timid hand beats hke a gentle sigh, 
That stirs a motion in the tides of air : 
I feel it, but to my lips I would not dare 
To press it ; tho' my lips thence might purify, 
But such a deed would make my heart too high. 

IV. 

Modesty ! language of a spirit fair 

That calls forth man's own soul to love thee more ! 

Breathing face with the breath of Summer's shore. 
When the soft south wind on rosy lair 
Is casting the soul of his purity bare ! 

V. 

Most beauteous shape, thou art not earthly, nor 
In thy sweet origin, nor in thy mien, — 
Those eyes that stare on man as tho' unseen, — 

Are they of earth ? They know not its ways ; 

And thereon but seraphims should gaze. 



THE LAMENT OF THE SERPENT. 



45 



^ 



THE LAMENT OF THE SERPENT. 

(A Sibilation.) 
I. 

Down from the land of bliss, 

Of pleasure and idlesse, 
From the shade where the lotus-tree grows, 
From the banks where the Salsabil flows, 

Cursed for deeds amiss. 
Low my father fell ! 

II. 

Down thro' the trackless waste 
Where red flames ever blazed, 
Where fire-noxious winds ever hissed. 
To o'erflood the skies with darksome mist, 
O'er bogs of fire raised, — 
Down-stricken to hell ! 



46 THE LAMENT OF THE SERPENT. 

III. 

And I over this maze, 
With naught to meet my gaze, 
Nor token my misery to alloy, 
And warm my breast with slightest joy, 
Wander with shaming face, 
To mourn heaven lost ! 

IV. 

E'en he who my father's intent won, 
Breathes to this day a happier one ; 
That Heaven's ire would pass, 
And upraise this lowly mass. 
That lives a pang of myth groping prone. 
To there it loves most ! 

London, December, 1880. 



AN INCITEMENT TO WAR, 47 



AN INCITEMENT TO WAR. 



They fought in the shade 

Of a million spears, 

They fought and they died, 

In the primal years, — 

But they were not denied 

The liberty they made, — 

Death, death was liberty, — 

The glory with freedom to die, 

In freedom's name, without a sigh. 

II. 
Where are our glorious men? 
The coward shrinks at the name 
Of war ! Are we all, 
All cowards, then ? 



48 AN INCITEMENT TO WAR. 

Our fathers had not this shame, 

Our fathers feared no fall ; 

Feared slavery — but not the grave ; 

Loved life — but not to be a slave ; 

And died — but knew not what they gave. 

III. 

Do we not feel the nip 
Of prison chains, slowly 
Closing on the tainted limb ? 
Away with them ! Away ! Rip 
Off the links unholy! 
Annul the record grim ! 
And let our children say, 
We lived, and fell — a prey, — 
But — tho' vanquished — still did sway. 
1881. 



LINES WRITTEN A T THE CAPITAL. 49 



LINES WRITTEN AT THE CAPITAL, 
JANUARY 18, 1882. 

I WILL not seek for gold nor pine, — 

But find a greater thing to boast ; 
A wealth of freedom shall be mine, 
Which can ne'er be lost. 

There is pomp and dress and revelry 

All around to tempt me in my way, — 
But I'll see men in their vanity, 
Without being vain as they. 

If there be joys for mortal men, 

When Virtue elevates the soul, 
I'll seek those joys, and fix my ken 
Upon Virtue's goal. 



50 LINES WRITTEN A T THE CAPITAL. 

I will not roam the hidden seas, 
As my heart did once declare, 
Nor seek in forests lone a peace 
I sought in vain to share ; 

I will not deem that men are base. 

And persecute them in despair, — 
I'll turn and look them in the face, 
And see my own soul there. 

My native land is bright and gay : 

Spirit, thy freedom is divine ! 
The joys that Heaven strews in the way 
Of seraphs, are thine. 

Thy only peace is not the grave, 

Nor is death thy truest happiness, — 
The meanest thoughts of meanest slave, 
Than these are less. » 



LINES WRITTEN AT THE CAPITAL. 51 

All nature, thro' heaven or heath, 

An everlasting beauty gives ; 
The lowliest flower that meets its death, 
Still in beauty lives. 

What wilt thou ? Can Heaven give more, 

Or man sublimer things conceive ? 
Up, up! thou art free! thy store 
Was not to make thee grieve ! 

Search out thy grave in Virtue's name, — 

Break these chains that bind thee like a slave ! 
And lay thy frame without a shame 
Into thy grave. 



52 



YE SERAPH'S BOON. 



YE SERAPH'S BOON. 



r THAT far land where faeries dwelle, 

And Oman rolls ye pearly wave ; 
Where love her sweetest tale does telle 

And eke the saddest love e'er gave ; 
Where bulbul sings ye nighte to sleepe 

And zephyr wakes her with a kisse, 
All in a palace lone, to weepe 

That fate should give her so much blisse, 
There dwelt a ladye fair. 

II. 

Ye ladye was a gentle maid, 

For royal blood was i' her veins ; 

But blood, alack-a-day, but made 
Her life full sore with idle pains ; 



YE SERAPH'S BOON. t-i 

Oh, had she been ye meadowe queen 
That roams so blithe ye flowery field, 

A scoter joy had she, I ween. 

Than weal or pride could ever yield 
Unto this ladye fair. 

III. 
No knighte had she to win her hearte 

Whom she could live to love and blesse; 
Nor sire had she to keepe her parte, 

And tilt her foes of idlenesse ; 
Nor sistern sweete, nor gentle freres, 

Nor e'en a mutual companie, — 
Alas ! her simple minde, her timid years 

Could find no friend in bird or tree 
To charm a ladye fair. 

IV. 

Sweet Idlenesse ! I recke thee sweete 
As aught that tempts moral i tie ; 



54 



VE SERAPH'S BOON. 

Old age can love thee leal who's meet 

To woo his lost virginitie ; 
But for ye blooming, budding flower 

That faints and fades for lack employ, 
Meseems 'twould fade within an hour 

Came there no bird to sip its joy, — 
So did ye ladye fair. 



She drooped as any rosie brighte 

That winter chills, or drought has bent; 
Yet neither deathe nor sleepe bedighte 

Her snowie cheeke nor ^yts ypent ; — 
But sleepe, a deepe, unearthlie sleepe. 

Did fall upon her gentle soul. 
And held it here to wake and weepe 

From dreams, I ween, more dole 
Than knew a ladye fair. 



YE SERAPH'S BOON. 55 



VI. 
Dreams, dreams of many years, could they 

Be sweete for hearte that never loved ? 
No gentle sprite or errant fay 

Came to those dreams with pitie moved, 
Nor aught of nature's imagerie 

To soothe her soul with faerie scenes, — 
But all was darke as deathe could be, 

If Heaven a fancy mere had been 
Unto this ladye fair. 



VII. 

Ye insect vile that builds his net 
r every nook and dismal place, 

He from ye ladye's hand did set 

A silken woof unto her face ; 

And on ye palace wide, ye dust 
5* 



56 



YE SERAPH'S BOON. 

Of ages came and settled deepe ; 
And summers came, and winter's gust, 
And birdies sang to wake ye sleepe 
That wrapt ye ladye fair. 

VIII. 

So years did hie : until a day 

Ye ladye oped her wondrous eyes : 
Beside her there a one did stay 

That bade her wake and following rise ; 
His hoarie bearde heaved as his breaste. 

And i' his hand he bore a staffe ; 
Like saintly pilgrim was he drest, — 

But i' his eyes a cruel laughe 

That quaked ye ladye fair. 

IX. 

*' Oh, ladye fair !" ye wighte he says, 
^' Has life but taught thee idlenesse ? 



V£ SERAPH'S BOON. 57 

Behold, full many are my days, 

And each has taught me happinesse : 

Now counsel sweete shall be thy grace 
If wisdom's worde can make thee heede ; 

Those tears bewipe from off thy face, 
And take my hand and let me leade 
The way, my ladye fair." 



X. 

*' Grammercy !" did ye ladye shrieke, 

" Unhand me by my royal blood ! 
But happie rest is all I seeke. 

And what than sleepe can be more goode ? 
Soote dreams I ken them not, but dream 

Full sooter ones than sadder be ; 
Now half aloof" With eyes agleam. 

Ye cruel wighte but smiled he 
Upon ye ladye fair. 



58 V-E SERAPH'S BOON. 

XL 

Forth to ye mead he led her out, 

And there did stop a fount beside ; 
Her piteous moan and mercy shout 

With hideous jeers he did deride. 
" Behold!" quoth he, "ye fount is dead, 

Whose life has many lives to keepe ; 
Ye birdies here that sipped and fed 

Shall wake no more from earthlie sleepe 
Like thee, my ladye fair. 



XII. 

" Now cruel is thy hearte to leave 

This fount to warpe so choked with leaves ; 
For Nature too can joy or grieve. 

More true than mortal joys or grieves : 
So stoope thee down; thy lilie hande 



VE SERAPH' S BOON. ^q 

Shall busie be for once, I ween ; 
Each faded leaf, each grain of sand, 
Although they myriads had been, 

Thou'lt draw, my ladye fair." 



XIII. 



Ye ladye looked reluctant pride, 

And drewe up her form to quaenlie 
Heighte, quaenlie as a quaen could bide 

That loves to looke on dignitie ; 
But now she turned upon ye wighte 

An eye that wailed a pitie looke, — 
But met she no reluctance slighte 

In Sterne demean that did not brooke 
To soothe ye ladye fair. 



XIV. 



And when ye taske ye ladye'd done, 
And turned to meet his mild approve, 



6o VE^ SERAPH'S BOON. 

Behold, ye hermit wighte was gone, 
And i' his place a youth did hove; 

His limbs they were yclad i' grace 

Whose vesture showed their symmetrie, — 

But with his cloaked arme his face 

He hid from sighte, that yearned to see 
Ye heart-struck ladye fair. 



XV. 

Now did ye ladye thinke at last 

There was some joy for her to be, 
And that ye drearie fate was past 

That made her lone and solitarie; 
So rapture i' her eyes so brighte 

Did gleam that care seemed strange to her ;- 
While gazing with a blushing frighte, 

She dared no worde to speake or stir, 
He hailed ye ladye fair. 



YE SERAPH'S BOON. ^j 

XVI. 

" O ladye, love is sweete, I knowe, 

But changes oft as I have done ; — 
But now you saw me bending low 

And looking all that love would shun ; 
Whilst, lo, I now am fair and young, 

Yet hide my face as hides a sting; 
So who can tell that righte or wrong 

Twould be to love or hate a thing- 
Like me, my ladye fair ? 



XVII. 

"Awhile agone you feared my mien, 

Whiles now you love,— and yet the same 

Am I in mind and soul, I ween, 

Howe'er my garb inspire or shame : 

Now see, ye moral is so sweete, 



62 YE SERAPH'S BOON. 

I wonder deepe you finde it not, — 
Whilst here you pine and idly greet, 
Yet happy still could be thy lot, 
My lonelie ladye fair. 

XVIII. 

" With Charitie a pleasure lives 

That falls as bounteous on the head, 
And earth benevolently gives 

Full many a joy in pleasure's stead ; 
For naught can be so sweete as life 

That lives another life to keepe. 
And idlesse is a busie strife 

For one who's hearte is lighte yet deepe, 
My lonelie ladye fair. 



XIX. 

Ere many hieing years are gone 
This triste shall join us once again. 



¥£ SERAPH'S BOON. 5^ 

And, oh, if else can breake thy mien so lone 
And make thee happie free of paine, 

I onh"e would my lovelie lot 'twould be 
To give the boon that made thee soe ; 

A mien so faire Love ne'er did see 

That drooped so sad as thee, and lowe. 
My prettie ladye fair." 



XX. 

Thus having said, ye youth he turned 

And hasted to ye ancient woode, 
While, gazing there, ye ladye spurned 

He to heede that weeping bade him bode; 
But reaching now ye forest shade. 

He did uncloak his hidden face,— 
That mien— those eyes— that they portrayed 

One of Heaven's cherubic race 
Did know ye ladye fair. 

March, 1878. 



64 THE POET. 



THE POET. 

I SAW a Poet with a shaggy mane 

And features leonine ; 
I strove to deem him great, and fain 

Would love a thing divine ; 

But, lo, he won no mortal soul, 

And loafed within his own ; 
His sullen mien, his eyeball's roll, 

Were of the sad and lone. 

O Heaven ! is this the world's great Peer,- 
This a Master, when a Slave ? — 

The Poet, the Prophet, and the Seer 
Should see farther than the Grave ! 



EPIGRAMS. 

Be freer, nobler, mightier in aim, 
And born by God's reflection ; — 

Aspiring, loving, not in name and fame, 
But scourge of Life's dejection. 

October 2, 1882. 



65 



EPIGRAMS. 



I SAW a fool and a fool saw me ; 

In mind and soul no difference knew he. 

When a Poet has fame, he's a great man ; 
When he has not, he lives but to hate man. 

Argue never with a dunce, — 
He'd conquer thee at once. 

I love your dishes and fain would be at your feast. 
But you'll pardon my absence of stomach at least. 



66 MEDITA TION. 

Men love women, women love men, 
The former silly, the latter vain ; — 

One loves one, whilst the other loves ten,- 
One is duped, and the other lacks gain. 

If vice could gain us Paradise, 
Hell would ne'er have given us vice. 



MEDITATION. 

O SIREN fair, I see thee standing there, 

Thy raven locks embowering two white arms ; 
Thy naiad features warm, thy bosom bare, 
Breathing forth a breath more sweet than summer 

air, 
Thine eyes pent down with a musing stare, 
Thy limbs inclined, so soft, so crimson fair, — 
Oh, lend me power to see seraphic charms 
As thine without a mute and blind despair. 



MEDITA TION. 5^ 

Above thee lies the meadow of the skies, 

Where romping clouds do chase the hieing noon, 
While Phoebus, with sad maternal eyes, 
Beckons them home ; high round-about thee rise 
Many a beechen pale; the river hies 
Full gently at thy feet; thy shadow lies 

Upon its panting breast; the stealthy moon 
Ascends, birds sing, and list 'ning night replies. 



I dare not gaze ; how strive to make thee raise 

The veil that shades thee in a thought so deep, 
But lends thy beauty light ? Some distant maze. 
Some sphere where worlds and stars unknown do 

blaze, 
Where love is pure, and man far longer stays. 
Has run its course before thy dreaming gaze — 
Has rocked thy soul into a cherub's sleep, 

And sang to thee Heaven's own roundelays. 

6* 



68 A SOAG. 

A sudden light comes o'er the vision bright ; 

She wakes; she moves; the bending brow is raised 
The stooping form betakes its wonted height 
And wends the shallow tide : enraptured, night 
Hushes to view the glory of the sight; 
And, gazing o'er the flood with sad delight, 

As had nor mortal eyes nor angel's gazed. 
Gleam Luna and her guardian satellite. 
1884. 



A SONG. 



Love, love, love, 
Thou art more false than hate, 
For it will live where thou hast met thy fate. 

Love, love, love, 
Thou art more low than scorn. 
For it will mock the day that thou wert born. 



THE SWEETEST SONG. 69 

Love, love, love, 
'Vaunt from this heart of mine ! 
For it hates and it scorns both thee and thine. 



THE SWEETEST SONG. 



The sweetest song I ever heard, 

With mortal's best delight. 
Came not from any happy bird 

That gave her soul to night ; 
But from a maiden's virgin heart 

That never loved before. 
To tell me in her simple art 

The mutual love she bore. 



70 



THE SWEETEST SONG. 

t 

II. 

The saddest song I ever heard, 

Was when that maiden's breath 
Breathed out the fond last parting word* 

Of souls still bound in death ; 
She told me still her love was mine, 

If mortal pride would take it. 
And that her love would be divine, 

As she could ne'er forsake it. 



III. 

Those songs, or sad or sweet, are heard 
When youth is in its prime, 

And still they sing, like any bird. 
Within the heart thro' time; 

* " Fond last farewell." — Byron. 



'TIS LOVE THIS YEAR. y^ 

And sweet and sad the moral lies 

In songs so sung as those, — 
That teach us grief is of our joys, 

And love is of our woes. 

London, 1883. 



'TIS LOVE THIS YEAR. 

Tis Love this year shall be my guide, 

And show me whom to marry ; 
Thro' all the world I'll wander wide 

And only finding tarry; 
I'll find her here or there, 

In Venice or Meru, 
I'll take her, if she's fair, 

From China or Peru. 

As fair a maiden she shall be 
As ever mortal sainted ; 



72 



'TIS LOVE THIS YEAR. 

She'll give me all her purity, 
Yet bear my sins untainted; 

Tho' where to find a one so fair 
Is far beyond my guessing, 

Yet still I'll find her here or there, — 
And take her with a blessing. 

A beauty shall her mind adorn, 

So strong in holy meekness, 
That ne'er within that mind a scorn 

Arose for mortal weakness ; 
She'll raise me up and make me dare 

To feel I'm worth that beauty, — 
But, — ah ! I'll find her here or there, 

For 'tis my life and duty. 

Her every thought shall be a grace 
But equalled by her splendor. 

And each soft feature of her face 
Shall show a thought as tender; 



•775 LOVE THIS YEAR. 

And tho' to win a one so fair 
'Twould take a mortal clever, 

Vet still I'll find her here or there, — 
And keep her too forever. 

'Tis Love this year shall be my guide, 

And show me whom to marry; 
Thro' all the world I'll wander wide 

And only finding tarry; 
I'll find her here or there, 

In Venice or Meru, 
I'll take her, if she's fair. 

From China or Peru, 



73 



74 



OH, SIREN FAIR. 



OH, SIREN FAIR. 

Oh, siren fair, I'd bravely dare 

To give thy face a look, 
But to declare the love I bear 

My heart could never brook. 

Each sweet device whose soft advice 
So tells me how to win thee, 

But seems a vice to bind the ice 
That chills the heart within thee. 

Since Love's replies in those cold eyes 

No mutual feeling render. 
Then were it wise to change my guise 

And show I'm not so tender? 



OH, SIREN FAIR. 75 

Alas, the mind that yearns to find 

A single trait that charms thee, 
But falls behind the love less blind 

Whose careless pride disarms thee. 

So if I tried, as I denied, 

To treat you like the rest, 
You'll lose your pride and yearn to hide 

Your blushes in my breast. 

But take your choice, and heed the voice 

Whose love is only Fashion, — 
And when that dies you'll find the guise 

That Love should wear is Passion. 



76 'TIS LOVE, MY BOYS. 



'TIS LOVE, MY BOYS. 

'Tis love, my boys, 'tis love, my boys, 

'Tis only love you're needing ; 
'Twill wipe the tears from out your eyes, 

And stop your heart that's bleeding; 
So haste you now and find a lassie, 

And take her home and love her, 
And tho' she's virtuous, sweet, yet sassy, 

She'll raise you far above her. 

Tve tried it, boys, I've tried it, boys, 

And know the thing is worthy ; 
She made me happy, made me wise 

Beyond a portion earthy ; 
She gave me truth, and I was base, 

She gave me love and feeling. 
And e'en the features of her face 

I felt to mine came stealing. 



'TIS LOVE, MY BOYS. jj 

She makes me, boys, she makes me, boys, 

She makes me all so jolly. 
That every thought within me dies 

That leads to mournful folly; 
I press her lips, and they are pure, 

Yet feel that mine grow purer, 
And tho' her love is more than sure. 

Yet mine, I feel, is surer. 

I love her, boys, I love her, boys, 

As only love could make me; 
She binds my heart with gentle ties 

Whose strength shall ne'er forsake me; 
I am not weak, for she is here 

To fortify my weakness. 
And all my sorrow, hope, and fear 

She bears for me with meekness. 

I thought her, boys, I thought her, boys, 
I thought her far above me. 



78 'TIS LOVE, MY BOYS. 

And could but think some sweet surmise 

Of pity made her love me ; 
But when I twined my arms around 

Her heaving bosom tender, 
I knew the ties by which we're bound 

Are all that Love can render.* 

'Tis love, my boys, 'tis love, my boys, 

'Tis only love you're needing ; 
'Twill wipe the tears from out your eyes, 

And stop your heart that's bleeding ; 
So haste you now and find a lassie, 

And take her home and love her. 
And tho' she's virtuous, sweet, yet sassy, 

She'll raise you far above her. 

* This last quatrain is not original, so far as ideas are concerned. 



COLUMBIA'S KINGS. 



COLUMBIA'S KINGS. 

Columbia's kings shall rule fore'er 

And wear the crown of liberty; 
Her noble sons have higher blood 

Than hearts whose freedom is not free; 
The stars of Fortune, at her will, 

Were drawn like satraps from above, 
And kneeling down beneath her frown 

Cringed out the fate of Peace and Love. 

O blessed Peace ! O happy Love,— 

Full many lands can claim ye less ! 
O glorious doom that here below 

The curse of war should curse to bless ! 
Tho' deep in foul oppression erst. 

We still were free to break our chains,— 
For tho' but slaves, we feared our graves 

Would bind our souls with coward stains. 



79 



8o THE WAR-CRY OF THE NORTH. 

We claimed our portion just, and won, 

But mercy came with valiant pride. 
And for our foes — we hid their crimes. 

That only Peace and Love could hide : 
So, once fair Freedom's hand is won, 

May Peace and Love oppressive bind, 
Till Love is near and Peace is dear 

To every realm and heart and mind. 



THE WAR-CRY OF THE NORTH. 

We were not born 

To fear, but scorn. 
The conqueror's stake for Freedom's sake ; 
Let every arm, tho' myriads swarm. 
Be joined like one in fight ! 

Tho' with our graves 
We'll free the slaves, 



THE WAR-CRY OF THE NORTH. 8l 

Whose fate unjust, by Southern lust, 
'Gainst Nature's weal and hearts that feel, 
Is bound in Freedom's sighf ! 

They breathe the air, 

The passions share. 
Of hearts as free as liberty ; 
Their woes they feel, — to God they kneel, 
And pray for peace and light. 

Then on and speed ! 

Ignoble deed 
Of him that stands when Heaven commands, 
Each hand that strives to save these lives 

Should strive with Heaven's own might. 

Then on, ye braves ! 

And seek your graves- 
With souls elate for others' fate ; 
And fall on man a coward's ban 

Whose hand deserts the right ! 



82 THE DEFEAT 01^ iHE SOUTH. 



THE DEFEAT OF THE SOUTH. 

Above our mighty eagle soared 

And scanned the bloody field, 
It saw a people's rights restored, 

And saw their tyrants yield, 
Yet drooped its wings beside the dead 

And shunned a prey so gory, — 
Tho' every drop of blood we shed 

Was worth a name of glory. 

It saw the long-bound slave leap free 

Across the Southern hills, 
And thank with tears on bended knee 

The savior of his ills ; 
It saw the hearts that ever felt 

Their woes with patience mute. 



THE DEFEAT OF THE SOUTH. 83 

Kneel down as mortal never knelt, 
Who once was but a brute. 



It saw the maiden, meek and fair, 

Whose beauty was her shame, 
That begged her lord at least would spare 

Her humble virgin name ; 
It saw the helpless babe whose birth 

Was still its parent's doom, 
Torn from her arms — because its mirth 

Had soothed its mother's gloom. 

But more, ah, more than this, its eye 

Beheld with shrinking flame ; 
It saw a nation's doom was nigh 

To blast her virgin fame ; 
When Conscience true at last revealed 

She could not be so base, 
And tore the shield that had concealed 

The pity in her face. 



84 THE SLAVES RHAPSODY. 

And when our mighty eagle soared 

And scanned the bloody field, 
' It saw a people's rights restored, 

And saw their tyrants yield. 
Yet drooped its wings beside the dead, 

And shunned a prey so gory, — 
Tho' every drop of blood we shed 

Was worth a name of glory. 



THE SLAVE'S RHAPSODY. 



Afar, afar on Afric's sunny shore, 

I roamed the tropic forest wild. 
Nor dreamed a dream that made my being more 

Than Nature's rude but happy child. 



THE SLAVES RHAPSODY. 85 

II. 

Until the tyrant's coward lust had bade 

Him bear us captive o'er the brine, 
And recked not that a lineal sire had made 

Us brothers of an equal line. 



III. 

In lands remote they taught us we were slaves 
Whom Nature's crimes had bound in chains, 

And less by far had been our recreant graves 
Than such a doom of penal pains. 



IV. 

Around us spread a scene so wondrous fair 
That in our dreams 'twas never found, — 

But then, ah then, the heart was beating there 
That said 'twas just we should be bound. 



86 THE SLAVES RHAPSODY. 

V. 

They thought our woes were joys to those whose 
hearts 

Were born so weak and reprobate, 
And when we sought relax in simple arts 

They feared we'd learn to curse our fate. 

VI. 

They seized the babe whose mother's breast had 
thrilled 

To feel a shade of liberty, 
And with the craven scourge her sorrow stilled, 

Unless that sorrow chose to die. 

VII. 

Each trivial right of life we were denied 

That even brutes had justly claimed, 
And all the more our cruel bonds they tied, 

They thought our savage hearts were tamed. 



THE SLAVES RHAPSODY. 8/ 

VIII. 

Alas ! not only birth had laid us low, 
But nature's starved and feeble frame ; 

And when the world had heard our wail of woe, 
Kind Death could not return his claim. 

IX. 

And yet, and yet, could every soul revive. 

Or speak beyond its ruthless grave, 
'Twould thank the guardian star that saw it live 

And die to free its brother slave. 



For still the tyrant's heart could feel that slept. 
But needed conscience true to raise him ; 

And all the woes we felt or tears we wept 
We'd bear again if they could praise him. 



88 BEHOLD THE DAY. 



BEHOLD THE DAY. 

72/«^— " Hang Jeff Davis." 

Behold the day that saw us free 

Is still without a night, 
And still the morning star shall be 
Our cynosure and light; 

For where, oh, where's the tyrant hand that 

dares defy, 
For where, oh, where's the tyrant hand that 

dares defy. 
For where, oh, where's the tyrant hand that 
dares defy, 
Defy our native land. 

II. 

They never fell whom Nature formed 
To face an enemy, — 



BEHOLD THE DAY. 89 

Whose patriot veins by birth are warmed 
With blood that must be free ; 
But where, oh, where's, etc. 

III. 

The conqueror's lust for weal and war 

Shall be by us disdained, — 
For bounteous Peace shall bring us more 

Than ever conqueror gained ; 
And where, oh, where's, etc. 



IV. 



The angry seas may be our foes 
And storms may hurtle o'er,— 

But never deeper be our woes, 
And peace for evermore ; 
Until, until, etc. 



90 



TIS PEACE. 



'TIS PEACE. 

June — "Yankee Doodle" 

'Tis Peace, sweet Peace that binds 

Our happy hearts together, 
And lends our free-born minds 

A sun in darkest weather ; 
For Peace, our Life and Art, 

'Tis only Peace we cherish, 
And all that dims the heart 

In this fair land would perish. 

O Peace, sweet Peace, we found 
And made thee Freedom's own. 

While still our heart was bound 
Beneath a foreign throne, — 



'T/S PEACE, 

But, oh, what bonds could claim 
A heart so true and free, 

When even Freedom came 
And gave her hand to thee ! 

Still Peace, sweet Peace shall stay 

Until that Freedom dies, 
And still her influence sway 

Our fondest mutual ties; 
For Peace, our Life and Art, 

'Tis only Peace we cherish, 
And all that dims the heart 

In this fair land would perish. 



8* 



91 



92 



HIGH HEA VEN MA K" 



"HIGH HEAVEN MAY." 

(A Patriotic Song.) 

High Heaven may guard our native land 

And see it more than others blest; 
His many gifts His generous hand 

May plant amain from east to west ; — 
But there are gifts He never dowers, 

And left to our creative might, — 
The glorious unity of powers, 

The self-made gifts of peace and right. 

II. 

We have not won our laurels here 
Like victors base of despot fame, 

But fear a war as cowards fear 

Till blood is shed in Freedom's name : 



" ///GB HEA VEN MA K" 93 

High, high our mighty eagle soars 

And wings the world from main to main, 

Nor strives to light on other shores, 

Nor grants them more than just disdain. 

III. 

The blood of many nations burns 

And purifies within our veins; 
One heart ebbs out their joys and yearns 

To feel and beat to soothe their pains : 
A million souls, and each is free, 

Have all the rights of kings and lords, — 
Yet see their throne of liberty 

Without surmise of tyrant hordes. 

IV. 

A million souls, tho' they be bound. 
Can find fair Freedom here at last; 

To e'en its foes our native ground 
Will yield a respite for the Past : 



94 



" HIGH HEA VEN MA K" 

Each procreant space of passing time 
A harvest yields of many years, — 

For prosp'rous Fortune loves our clime, 
And even smiles athwart her tears. 

V. 

But Fortune's bays can give us pride 

To share their joys with poverty; 
Our lords of wealth no heart deride 

That warms with kindred liberty : 
The scales of Justice, justified, 

Weigh mercy with the foulest deed, 
And more than base the man that died 

Whom Pity's tears had never freed. 

VI. 

A thousand years shall fall on earth 
To tint, but not to blast, our bloom ; 

Each year shall see a nation's birth 
And each a nation in the tomb : 



•' HIGH HEA VEN MA K" 

Fair Art shall paint a new design 

And Wisdom's words be turned to gold, 

While Freedom, Peace, and Love combine 
To hide the griefs we grieved of old. 

VII. 

High Heaven may guard our native land 

And see it more than others blest; 
His many gifts His generous hand 

May plant amain from east to west; — 
But there are gifts He never dowers. 

And left to our creative might, — 
The glorious unity of powers, 

The self-made gifts of peace and right. 



95 



96 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 



STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 

Tho' the future's bosom oft be clad in robes of light, 
When the soul is glad and gilds its path before the 

sight, 
'Tis more within those folds we mourn past joys 

denied, 
Nor reap a single bliss from that which once hath 

died. 

The guardian sail that waft us to our joy before, 
Strewn o'er the ocean past, in shreds to join no 

more. 
The eye in transport views and melts a fitful tear 
To join the wrecking tides that scorned to make a 

bier. 



STANZAS FOR MUSIC. gy 

'Tis mine the lone heart ne'er known with joy t' 

abide, 
So fond of grief, and wanly sad with hope beside. 
That bears its woful store ascribe, too proud to 

weep, 

But strives to seek in woe, and mingles woe with 
sleep. 



If from this heart one thing might claim a silent 
fear, 

Tho' no future dawns on me with brilliance clear, 

Tis that the path wherein my feet so long have sun- 
less strayed, 

Should rise to light and bloom and song that e'er 
should fade. 



But the blood that thro' the veins ne'er with warmth 

did creep, 
Nor throbbed in the heart one sweet beat to reap. 



98 SONG. 

As the wanderer wild on Lapland's icy shore, 
Knows but that single clime and knowledge asks no 
more. 

Philadelphia, May lo, i88i. 



SONG. 

Hast thou thy sweet heart to deny ? 

Hast thou thy roseate lips for scorn ? 
Hast thou the soft light of thine eye 

To shun love with sincerity mourn? 

Oh, there is a love that is cold ! 

There is a love that hath no light ! 
No truth that is steadfast and bold, 

And fades as the day into night. 



TO JULIET. 
Oh, there is a love that is warm,— 

As true as the bright cynosure 
That leads the mariner thro' storm, 

Everlasting, faithful, and sure. 

Exists not that love in my breast ? 

Exists not that love with its fire ? 
Oh, as the zephyrs of the West 

Let me kiss the dew of thy cheek and expire ! 

March, 1881. 



99 



TO JULIET. 

(Who died in her eighteenth year.) 
I. 

For thee my ever-mournful sigh, 
The flow of a fervent tear, 

While for I bear on the memory 
That gone days have rendered dear 



100 TO JULIET. 

Sleep shall not fondle my breast 

Nor weave sweet dreams in slumber; 

It sobs for thee and that rest 

When no dreams may encumber. 

II. 

I stand on the bowery spot 

Where thy love's first words were mine, 
And the myrtle-tree wafts not 

The loved breath that was thine ; 
'Twas here, 'twas here that those words 

Thrilled o'er the chords of my heart, — 
Sweet song, I hear it like birds 

Singing with magical art. 

III. 

I stray not to thy tomb to weep 

Where those flowers waft spray-dew ; 

For I know such tears o'er thy sleep 

Would snatch from those violets their hue 



TO JULIET. 

But in the glow of the moonlight 
I wander to the silent glade, 

And long, oh, long with thy sprite 
Love's sweet communion is made. 

IV. 

Life ne'er shall have a joy for me, 

Or be so dear as it might have been ; 
No love but that I bear for thee 

Could love another of thy mien ; 
Sleep shall not fondle my breast 

Nor weave sweet dreams in slumber; 
It sobs for thee and that rest 

Where no dreams may encumber. 
1881. 



lOI 



I02 A SONG. 



A SONG. 

A LARK skipped up and sang to me 
As a morn the woods I strolled, — 

Like a Naiad from the sea 

Leapt he from the dewy wold, — 

And sang as sweetly as the breeze 

That fans the rosy Cyclades. 

It seemed a song so new to me, 
Made my soul so glad with joy, 

I sat me down upon the lea 

Till the sun had left the sky, — 

I sat me down and listened till 

The night came down upon the hill. 

Full man}^ songs I'd heard of yore 
That fell upon the ears like kisses, 



A SONG. 

But never have I felt before 

Such a happy shower as this is, — 
And so I blessed the little bird 
For singing songs so seldom heard. 

I know not how the thoughts could rise 
If there were sweeter melody, 

For tears had drowned my heart and eyes 
To see how great a bird could be, — 

Oh, if I only sang as well 

Perhaps the secret how I'd tell. 

Long Branch, May, 1885. 



104 ^^' M^^'^' ^^^ THERE. 



SCOTCH SONGS. 

(The following songs in the Scottish style were written during a 
sojourn in Ayr and vicinity, or in the Land of Burns.) 

OH, MEET ME THERE. 

(" Standing there, upon the banks of ' bonny Ayr,' the two youthful 
lovers vowed to be true to one another, exchanging Bibles and other 
love-tokens, promising to meet again on the same spot. Alas ! they 
met no more." — Life of Burns.) 

Oh, meet me there, oh, meet me there, 
Upon the bonny banks of Ayr, — 
Forget it not, forget it ne'er, 
The vow we made by bonny Ayr. 

I told her there with tender care, 

Upon the bonny banks of Ayr, 

That mortal love could love nae mair (no more) 

Than I loved her by bonny Ayr. 



OH, MEET ME THERE. 105 

My heart grew sair with mute despair (sore) 
Upon the bonny banks of Ayr, 
Her heart so true, how could she dare 
To break my heart by bonny Ayr ? 

The muirland bare I watched it e'er 
Upon the bonny banks of Ayr, 
But that sweet face it lit nae mair 
The muirland by the bonny Ayr. 

A face sae dear, than truth more fair. 
Or roses on the banks of Ayr, — 
My heart went out and flowed to her 
As flow the tides of bonny Ayr. 

We roamed the mere and plucked them there. 
Those gowans on the banks of Ayr, — (daisies) 
Oh, joyfu' days ! to pluck once mair 
Those gowans on the banks of Ayr. 

It came like flowers and blossomed there 
Upon the bonny banks of Ayr, 



I06 THE BONNY DOON, 

And Spring may come to raise once mair 
The love that bloomed by bonny Ayr. 

Oh, meet me there, oh, meet me there 
Upon the bonny banks of Ayr, — 
Forget it not, forget it ne'er, 
The vow we made by bonny Ayr. 



THE BONNY DOON. 

(The variations of sound in the following are purposed, the song 
being adapted to a tune which I heard, but the words to which I 
forget.) 

Sweet, sweet the song the hills among 
When mavis sings beneath the moon, 

But sweeter bird than song I heard 
Ne'er sweeter sang by bonny Doon. 

I thought, alas! the bonny lass 

Had naething in her heart to greet, (weep) 
A step sae fleet, a face sae sweet (so) 

Ne'er lover won or ran tae meet, — (to) 



THE BONNY BOON. 107 

But each soft tone seemed like a moan 
That's sung to sorrow's saddest tune, — 

Tho' sweeter song ne'er thrilled among 
The braes beside the bonny Doon. 

Full sad and clear the mournful tear 

Dropt from the lassie's bonny e'e, (eye) 
And roses shed by that dew fed 

A sadder fragrance o'er the lea ; 
While on my breast a sweet unrest 

Fell like the leaves that fall at noon, 
For, fond, fond maid, those tears were shed 

For me beside the bonny Doon. 

Wi' cautious step I gently crep' 

And proved the vow I made was true ; 

Her tearful eye I kissed it dry 

And stole the rose's precious dew ; 

Her sweet alarms, fast in my arms. 
She lost in conscious rapture soon, — 



:o8 THE BONNY DOON. 

Then sang again that mournful strain 
I heard her sing by bonny Doon. 

Sweet, sweet the song the hills among 
When mavis sings beneath the moon, 

But sweeter bird than song I heard 
Ne'er sweeter sang by bonny Doon.* 



My laddie jo he's gone away, 

He's gone away beyond the sea, — 

Perhaps he'll meet some ither lassie there, (other) 
And break the vow he made with me. 

Oh, laddie jo, oh, laddie jo. 

How could you be so fause ? (false) 

I love thee mair than lassie e'er 
Has loved a lad so fause. 

* Some of the expressions in this poem, as " stole the rose's dew,' 
and her " alarms, fast in my arms," are not original. 



THE BONNY BOON. 109 

My laddie jo forgets the day 

We roamed theg'ither o'er the mere, — (together,) 
Perhaps he'll breathe a vow more true 

Into that ither lassie's ear. 

My laddie jo, still, still the spray 

I'll wear of blue forget-me-ne'er ; 
Ilk leaf has ta'en a joy from me (each) 

And ilk shall bring a future care. 

And, laddie jo, I'll love thee aye 

Wi' all the love o' mony year, 
And be it fause, or be it fair. 

Ne'er, ne'er for me you'll drap a tear.* 

Oh, laddie jo, oh, laddie jo. 

How could you be so fause ? 
I love thee mair than lassie e'er 

Has loved a lad so fause. 

* " Never for me you'll shed a tear." — Byron. 



I o AFTON- M^A TERS 



AFTON-WATERS. 

Where Afton-waters gently glide 

A distant stranger came to roam ; 
He'd seen full many a fairer tide 

Where Niagara leaps in torrent foam ; 
But could Heaven the fate reclaim 

That saw him born beyond the sea, 
Sweet Afton-tide, no patriot shame 

Should stop his heart from loving thee. 

Where Afton-waters gently glide 

Fair nature re'els her fairest scene ; (shows) 
No turbid rills or mountains wide 

Disturb or span her mild demesne ; 
But simple flowers, of simplest hue, 

That scorn the rose's haughty blaze, 



A FT ON- WA TERS. \ 1 1 

Sweet Afton-tide, thy banks bestrew, 
And charmed the wanderer's gaze.* 

Where Afton-waters gently glide 

Sweet Spring awakes her earliest morn ; 
Still Winter fumes on Thames's side 

While she laughs on the northern bourne ; 
For blooming trees show forth their buds, 

That mock cold March's sultry air, 
Sweet Afton-tide, beside thy floods 

While southern fields are stript and bare. 

Where Afton-waters gently glide 
The mavis sings the sweetest heard ; 

Nae doubt the burn and daisies pied 
Have sway upon the bonny bird ; 

And lingering there, the moon beneath. 
Whose rapture showed in every ray. 



Chai-med the wandering eye." — Wordsworth. 
lo 



112 SWEETEST BIRD THAT SINGS BY DEE. 

Sweet Afton-tide, my patriot's faith 

Fell down and knelt beneath thy sway. 

Where Afton-waters gently glide 

A distant stranger came to roam ; 
He'd seen full many a fairer tide 

Where Niagara leaps in torrent foam ; 
But could Heaven the fate reclaim 

That saw him born beyond the sea, 
Sweet Afton-tide, no patriot shame 

Should stop his heart from loving thee. 



THE SWEETEST BIRD THAT SINGS 
BY DEE. 

(Imitated from the Scottish.) 

The sweetest bird that sings by Dee 
Ne'er sweeter sang a song for me. 



SWEETEST BIRD THAT SINGS BY DEE. 

When roaming there upon the brae 
Thy trembling frame 
And blushing shame, 

Said Aye, my love, said Aye. 



I knew full well thy gentle heart 
Would pity mair than shun the part, 
The humble part, I offered thee, — 

So boldly strove 

To win thy love. 
In wham na hate cad be. (In whom no hate 

could be.) 

And winning thee I won the gowd (gold) 
That came upon me like a cloud 
And dimmed the horizon of love, — 

'Twad be na wae (Twould — woe) . 

To hurl't away 
Gin thou cad happier be. (If) 



114 SHOULD A MAIDEN TEMPT. 

Then hurl't away, my love, away, 
And we will pass our cantie day (happy) 
Aboon the hills in poortith kin' — (Beyond 
the hills in poverty kind) 
Oh hurl't away, 
My love, and ta'e (take) 
My lot as I wad thine. 



SHOULD A MAIDEN TEMPT. 

Should a maiden tempt my eyes, 
Bind my heart with Beauty's ties. 
Draw my soul unto my tongue, and start 
My cold and once unravished lips to part 
With Love's own deepest eloquence, 
Methinks I still should have the sense 
To cease th' orator and let her slip, 
If up to Love she turned a lip; — 



SHOULD A MAIDEN TEMPT. 

Methinks her beauty would all die, 
And fit her for a human sigh ; 
Her life be dead, her soul be gone, 
And all her wit beneath a stone. 

But if she sought to prove her wisdom 
And blessed me as the king of kissdom, 
And drew me forward with a terse 
And queenly sense as sweet as verse, 
And soured my thoughts for admiration, 
And made my heaven belike damnation. 
And e'en did make herself seraphic, — 
A really sort of mournful sapphic, — 
Meseems my tongue and lips would teach. 
In brazen words descriptive speech, 
The soul its transport's real fetch, 
And how I won what's hard to catch. 

Now my voice like hurtling thunder, 
Then like streams the beechens under. 



115 



Il6 SHOULD A MAIDEN TEMPT. 

Then again a little sallying 

And from flattery a-rallying ; 

Now, a somewhat cold and distant, 

Making love's desire consistent ; 

Then, awhile most backward and most coy, 

To prove herself to me a toy, 

And me to her yet sensible in joy. 

First I'd shake her breast with fear. 

Then call out a stranger tear, 

And hence draw her soul about 

With a sweet Philippic rout ; 

Until she dreamed of Cyclades 

And bodied up Demosthenes, 

With he who told a tale of Love 

Until the seraphs wept above, — 

With she that heard and knelt before him, 

And withal bethought it better to adore him. 

Baltimore, January i6, 1883. 



A MILLINER'S ADVERTISEMENT. ny 



A MILLINER'S ADVERTISEMENT. 



Not tinsel, fucus, and brocade, 
Merino fine and silken braid, 

Alone our pride and boast : 
In these excel, no doubt, our shelves ; 
But th' excellence is in ourselves, 

To welcome friend and host. 

II. 

Frowns and becks and counter-minces. 
Tongues a-tune with angry winces. 

And slow inalertness, — 
We know them not ; but power to please. 
And meek, unshop-like, knowing ease, 

Quick with light expertness. 



Il8 rO A FRIEND. 

III. 

Come for aught or come for naught, 

We'll please as we can, and warrant the bought 

Will not avert ye : 
Or if betimes you're passing nigh us, 
And feel the mood that tempts to try us, 

Oh, let's divert ye ! 



TO A FRIEND. 

Bonos corrumpunt moves congressus malis." — Tertullian. 
I. 

Glorious seems thy state, when Stygian, 
Pent in the darkness of a fit religion 
For Hades nation : 



TO A FRIEND, uq 

For false and unearthly is the piety 
That lifts itself beyond society 
And human station. 



II. 

O find the moral of our lives not in their gloom, 
Nor see the spirit of our faith within the tomb, 

And hapless seek 
To raise and bind the heart to vain perfection : 
For high is that soul in man's election 

That loves its weak. 

III. 

Who finds his glor}^ before he knows the grave ? 
Who lives not free on earth should be a slave 

With chains divine : 
But traits of character and moral features 
May have their bounds with us : alas, poor creatures ! 

Our heads feel wine ! 



I20 TO A FRIEND. 

IV. 
We reel about and banquet on our hopes, 
And strew the revel-board, as drunkard copes 

While drunkard claims ; 
Or, each for each, and all a-groping, 
We feel our little strength in concord moping 

Toward our aims. 

V. 

And yet — all our frailties, say, what are they ? 
Our hopes they feed, our joys not mar they. 

And error fades 
Before the eyes of God that see them all. 
Our hopes and joys are Nature: she has her pall, 

And we our shades. 

VI. 

But, bent on Mercy for our peccant lives, 
She gives her boon and moral — then shrives 
Us all before Thee ! 



MAIDEN, I WILL LOVE THEE. 121 

So moving with the current of our life, 
We pursue the Lethe of our sin and strife, 
And there adore Thee ! 

Washington, November 2, 1882. 



MAIDEN, I WILL LOVE THEE. 



Maiden, I will love thee, 

Maiden with no lip of scorn ; 

Not in Heaven above thee 
Is aught more heavenly born : 

II. 

Not the seraphs above thee, 
Not the demons below thee. 

To an evil could move thee, 
Nor a glory bestow thee. 



122 KATHLEEN. 

III. 

So I will love, and I will love 
As long as heav'nly loves endure 

Until my love seems flown above 
And worshipping- an angel pure. 

August, 1882. 



KATHLEEN. 



'TwAS roaming o'er the hills a day, 
When the noon was waning pale, 

I met a maiden on my way, 

Kathleen, the flower of the vale. 

" What makes your eyes so wan," she said, 
** Once I've seen them sparkling glow? 

And bowed toward the earth your head. 
That deemed the world its pride below ! 



KATHLEEN. ^^X 

" Tis for some lover from thee gone ? 

For one dead within her grave ? 
For one that scorns to look upon 

Your heart her love from grief would save ? 

" What makes your eyes so wan," she said, 
" Once I've seen them sparkling glow ?" 

" Tis not for one I love who's dead, 
Nor for one away my woe." 

*• Why bowed toward the earth your head, 
That deemed the world its pride below ?" 

" Tis not to shame* the sun o'erhead. 
But the face before me now ! 

" 'Tis you that scorn to look upon 

My heart your love from grief would save — " 
" Then smile upon your beacon sun, 

'Tis I the one your love doth crave !" 



* To shame, to shun. 
II 



124 ^^^ ^^^ ^^ ^^^ ^-^^ FACE DIVINE. 
I pressed the maiden to my breast, 

I soothed her with a fond caress, — 
She loved me ere her love I guessed, 

I loved her more than love could guess. 

Philadelphia, May, i88i. 



OH, LET ME SEE THY FACE 
DIVINE. 

Oh, let me see thy face divine, 

I cannot ask for more ; 
Or let me take thy hand in mine. 

And guide thee on this shore. 

And I will lead thee to the fair, 
Through hills that fairest raise, 

And I will lead thee to the air 
Where suns make warmest days. 



OH, LET ME SEE THY FACE DIVINE. 125 

And when I've led thee there and gaze 

Upon thy face divine, 
As we wend the murmuring maze, 

Still thy hand in mine, 

Oh, may I ask to kiss the blush, 

Like a zephyr gently bore. 
When love awakes and words are flush ?* 

And drop thy hand no more ? 

October 30, 1881. 



■=^ In two or three years this will not appear " slang :" the word 
flush is already used with propriety. 



126 LINES. 



LINES. 



Let minds differ, but all spirits are the same ; 
The marigold hath its varying dyes, 
But still 'tis aye one flower in man's eyes, 

One flower, with one God, and a single name. 

Tho' religion have consistence in its texts, 
'Tis still for the worship of one Being; 
And every man's proper mode of seeing 

Is from one point, whate'er be his pretexts. — 

One point, the earth ; one point, the human soul, 
Which rates and feeds upon what earth gives ; 
Which moves with the moving days, and lives 

To reap means for the passing of Death's toll. 

Washington, D. C, February 20, 1882. 



COULD I BUT FIND A LASS TO LOVE, 127 



COULD I BUT FIND A LASS TO 
LOVE. 

Could I but find a lass to love 
Whose heart is soft and tender, 
I'd love her so that ne'er a word 
Or deed of mine would dare offend her; 
But living here, among a crowd 
Whose love is made of fashion, 
I see not one that e'en when won 
Were worth a poet's passion. 

I've sought my fond and fair ideal 
In many a land beyond the sea. 
And still methinks she can be found 
As long as love that's true can be ; 



128 COULD I BUT FIND A LASS TO LOVE, 

Yet, finding not, where'er I seek, 
'Tis strange my heart thus craves her still,— 
Perchance such love the gods above 
Have given me here to break my heart. 

But be my heart or bro'en or tent, 
I'll more than love the lass I marry ; 
And ne'er I'll wed me here below, 
Although a thousand years I tarry, 
Ere that fair maid, my fond ideal. 
Whose heart is soft and tender, 
God's pity shows to heal my woes 
And love me in my sorrow. 



THE END. 






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